Mace of the Apocalypse

by Daniel J. Williams

  Chapter 2

  (One Day until Attack)

  “You’re going down, Mace. You’re going downtown. It’s all over. You can try but you can’t beat me.” Jason taunted Mace as they played baseball on one of the antique gaming machines at the Mechanical Museum on Pier 45 in San Francisco. Jason flipped a lever and a mechanical pitcher tossed an old metal ball towards Mace’s batter. Mace yanked quickly on the batting lever and was struck out, yet again.

  “What do you do, break in here and play all night?”

  “I don’t need to. This machine was made for me.”

  “This machine is close to a hundred years old.”

  “Oh. So it’s closer to your age.” Jason started to giggle.

  Jason was ten.

  Mace had been his big brother for close to three years, and was a pushover when it came to the kid. Today, picking him up after school, he couldn’t take another outing at the Exploratorium or the zoo, so he thought the Mechanical Museum at Pier 45 would make for a nice change of pace. In the heart of Fisherman’s Wharf, there were always a million things to do.

  The first time Mace had sat down and talked with him he’d felt an instant bond. Jason’s parents were both intravenous drug users and HIV positive, and Jason was being raised by his Grandmother all alone. The kid was only seven when he met him, but had such a positive outlook and infectious grin that Mace was won over immediately.

  Jade walked up behind Mace and goosed him. Mace jumped. “Hey, you’re blowing my game.”

  Jade started laughing. “You’re no match for Jason’s mad skills. Right Jason?”

  He gave her a thumbs up sign. “Whipped him again, J.”

  Mace looked from one to the next. “Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of some twisted conspiracy.”

  “Because when it comes to the mechanical museum, you’re just a big sissy loser.” Jade made the shape of an L on her forehead, backing away as she did so with a grin plastered across her face.

  Jason started giggling again.

  “That’s it. Next week it’s trampoline dodgeball. Let’s see you laugh when you’ve felt the sting of my double barreled rubber dodgeball super zip fling.” He started laughing at himself.

  Jason’s face lit up. “Cool! We haven’t done that in forever!”

  Sauntering back dramatically, Jade kissed Mace on the cheek. “You’re such a good mentor, even if you are a bit weird. I’m going to cream you next week, though.”

  “In your dreams.” He touched her between the eyes. “Right there. You’re gonna get it right there. I don’t care if Margie scolds me again.”

  Margie was Jason’s grandmother and loved playing along.

  Jade’s eyes turned warm and sensual. “Maybe we should have a kid of our own. You know you’d be a great dad.”

  Mace felt immediately claustrophobic and pulled back a little. “Okay, let’s just take a step back, here.”

  Mace’s phone started ringing and he looked at it with relief. Unclipping it from his belt, a smile crossed his face when he saw the number. “Yeah, Dad, what can I do for you?”

  There was a brief silence on the other end before the reply came back, “Um, you know, I prefer it when you call me Father.” Mace could hear the smile from the other side.

  “Oh, right Jack, whatever you say.”

  There was a brief chuckle. “Why must you always be so obnoxious?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You just bring out the devil in me.”

  “Ha, devil he says! If it wasn’t for me you’d be suffering untold horrors.”

  Mace started laughing. “Okay, okay, so I owe you my life and my soul. It’s good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

  “I just missed you on Sunday and wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  “Oh, right, sorry. I got caught up in a case. I was thinking of swinging by tomorrow to catch up.”

  There was a brief silence on the phone. “That’s the other reason for the call. For some reason I knew you’d be coming.”

  Later that evening after dropping off Jason, Mace and Jade were enjoying an early dinner at a little café in North Beach when a news report came on the TV over the coffee counter. Mace didn’t catch it all, but enough to know that a terrorist attack had just been averted. The girl behind the counter was glued to the TV and moved to turn up the volume.

  “…four terrorist suspects allegedly involved in a plot to attack New York City’s transportation system were arrested today. FBI authorities rounded up the four after a three-month investigation following an anonymous tip. The Homeland Security Advisory System has elevated the terror alert levels to High, or Code Orange, for the New York State and Washington D.C. geographic areas. The rest of the Country will remain at elevated or Code Yellow levels. All Americans are asked, especially those traveling in transportation systems, to be vigilant and take notice of their surroundings and report suspicions items or activities to local authorities immediately. At the current time…”

  At the sound of the report, Mace could feel his face flush and he turned away from the TV. “I just don’t understand how anyone could possess that type of fucking hate. There is nothing more twisted than killing innocent people and calling it holy.”

  “It’s been happening for years by every religion,” said Jade. “You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s always the fanatics. Most people who search for God do it to improve their lives or come to a deeper understanding of life. You know most Muslims hate what they’ve done. Just about anybody is better than these creeps.”

  Jade smiled. “Underneath that tough exterior you really are just a poet and a teddy bear, aren’t you?”

  “Wise ass,” Mace said with a grin. “At least I’m not a mass murderer, and I don’t claim to be a good person. I am well aware of who and what I am.”

  Jade corrected him immediately. “What are you talking about? You are one of the best people I know.”

  Mace laughed. “You know my anger issues and my flaws, yet you still choose to paint me as a good guy? You must be crazy in love with me.”

  It was Jades turn to laugh. “I was being serious. I know you better than you know yourself. Just because you’ve had a rough life and had to do things to survive doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you human.” She laughed some more at the look on his face. He was mocking her. “Your line of work doesn’t define you, either. I’ve never seen you go beyond what was necessary to keep us both alive.”

  Mace leaned back and smiled at her sincerity. “Thank you. Really. I’m just trying to make up for the past and live the best I can. I’m not the same person that I was before. As God is my witness.” He held up his palm as if to swear an oath.

  “I know that, you big lug. And I’m with you every step of the way.”

  *****

  Khalid watched the news report in disbelief. He realized immediately that his was not the only attack planned, and he jumped out of his chair and raged at the TV. “Allah will destroy you, and you will watch your children die! I will kill you all!”

  He struggled to get himself under control. He couldn’t afford to let anyone hear his outrage. The attack was scheduled for tomorrow, but he ached to free his soul today. Carnage and desperation were calling, and he licked his lips in anticipation. “You will learn the wrath of Allah. You will all suffer for your wickedness.”

  His voice was lower now, but he could feel his body tremble in anticipation. It was near. His wait was almost over. He had waited his whole life for this moment.

  When he was just a small child in Eastern Afghanistan, Russian troops had tortured and murdered his parents. At the age of ten he had joined the Afghan resistance and got his first taste of blood. By thirteen, he had traveled to Pakistan where he received military and religious training by Taliban fighters in the rugged, wooded hills of Mansehra in north-central Pakistan. At twenty, he took part in the bombing of the USS Cole, but had not been chosen to be a martyr, much to his ch
agrin.

  Now there was a chance he would be apprehended before he could fulfill his jihad. Whatever happened, martyrdom would not escape him this time. He would take as many with him as he could.

  Chapter 3

  (Day of the Attack)

  Lisa rushed into the office, twenty-seven minutes late. It was the second time this week. She could see the looks from the other secretaries as she plopped down at her cubicle, trying to put herself in order. The secretary next to her, Rachel, leaned over and whispered while doing a quick look around. “Doug was already looking for you. I hope you’ve got a good excuse.”

  Lisa was trying to turn on her computer and take off her jacket as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. “I can’t help it. It takes forever with Chelsea. I’ve got no help right now, you know that.”

  Rachel nodded while still looking around. “I know. But you better come up with something better than that. Say she has the flu or something. Doug was looking for blood this morning.”

  Lisa did a quick scan around. “Shit.”

  The last person she wanted to deal with was Doug Foss, one of the lawyers who was fighting to become a partner and enjoyed abusing any employee he could get his hands on.

  As she pulled herself together and settled in to work, she could see Doug Foss appear out of the corner of her eye. She kept her head down as she tried to ignore his presence.

  “Lisa. I understand you were late again this morning. I think we need to have a talk in my office before you leave today.” He eyed her coldly and a smirk crossed his face. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  She looked up and swallowed hard. “No, not at all. I need to talk to you about my current situation anyway. I’ve been struggling a little with my daughter’s daycare.”

  He raised his eyebrows and dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he started to walk away. “Later. In my office.”

  She tucked her head down and swore under her breath. “What an asshole.”

  She looked over at Rachel who was aiming an imaginary pistol at the back of Doug’s head. She closed one eye and pulled the imaginary trigger. “Poo. You’re dead.” She looked at Lisa. “Good luck. If you need any backup, I’m here.”

  Lisa nodded nervously. “Thanks.”

  *****

  Mace and Jade were walking briskly towards Union Square. They had just received a tip that a fugitive they were looking for was in the vicinity. They were at the corner of Geary and Stockton trying to navigate through the sea of tourists that were enjoying a rare, warm, May afternoon in San Francisco. Mace took off his sunglasses and tried to peer above the crowd.

  “We’re never going to find him in this crowd. I think we should split up. You take Geary and I’ll head up to Post. Call me if you see anything.”

  Mace slipped his sunglasses back on and started trotting up Stockton Street, scanning the crowd for Ray Faranello’s signature purple Mohawk. “You wouldn’t think he’d be that fucking hard to find,” he muttered to himself.

  Ray had jumped bail on a drug possession charge and Mace had been looking for him for close to a week. The trail had gone cold a few times, as bond cosigners disappeared altogether and family and friends were silent. The tip had come from an ex-girlfriend who had a score to settle and was following him.

  Ray was a pleasant enough fellow and Mace had dealt with him a few times in the past, but he just couldn’t get off the crack pipe and get his life in order. Mace had offered to set him up in rehab once before, but Ray fell through on his end of the bargain and never showed up at the clinic when scheduled. Mace also knew Ray’s ex-girlfriend, Rhonda, who had a thing against Mace since she had some convoluted idea that Mace had once tried to split them up.

  Rhonda, Ray’s girlfriend, would have stood by him until the day he died, which would most likely be sooner than later, but Ray had dumped her and had moved in with another crack-head hooker who had a bigger studio. Her way of getting back at Ray was to help in his capture.

  As Mace searched through the crowd, he would occasionally stop someone and hold up a picture of Ray. “Have you seen this guy?”

  Looking from the picture of a guy with the tall purple Mohawk to Mace, who was decked out in a black leather jacket, blue jeans and biker boots, the answer was always the same: “No.” Few took notice of the badge hanging around his neck identifying him as a fugitive recovery agent.

  He reached the corner of Stockton and Post and wondered if Jade was actually searching down Geary or had stopped at Louis Vuitton’s to admire the handbags.

  He grabbed his cell phone and punched #2 on the receiver. Jade answered immediately. “No, I’m not in Louis Vuitton and no I don’t see Ray’s big ass Mohawk. I’m heading up Powell and I’ll meet you at the corner. Let’s head into the square and see if he’s there.”

  Just as they hung up, the phone rang. “Yeah?”

  “He’s at the Powell St. BART Station. I just got the call.” It was Murray from Murray’s Bail Bonds.

  “Damn it; tell Rhonda to plug into me direct. I lose time when the message keeps getting relayed.”

  “She don’t like you. She say’s you’re a punk.”

  Mace spotted Jade and started jogging towards her while talking to Murray. “Every time I talk to her she’s cracked out. What does she know?”

  “Trust me, she knows,” Murray chuckled.

  “All right. Call me if anything else comes up.”

  He clipped the phone shut and motioned to Jade when she spotted him. “He’s at the BART Station. We might be able to still catch him if we hurry.”

  They started back down Powell towards the station, dodging quickly through the crowds.

  *****

  Lisa was sitting in Doug’s office, trying to explain her situation. “Look, I’m a single mother with a three year old daughter. I’m struggling just to get in here every day. Can’t you just give me a little slack? At least until I work something out with Chelsea? I’ve worked here for over a year and I’ve never received any disciplinary action. I just lost a sitter and I’m trying to find a reasonable one she likes.”

  Doug Foss peered at her from over his desk. He loved the feel of power and control he had over his employees. “I’m sorry for your situation Lisa, but we are trying to run a business here. If you can’t get your personal life worked out, I’m going to have to suggest that you look for work elsewhere.”

  Lisa could see the smug look of satisfaction on his face. She buried the surge of anger that was bubbling up through her intestines and wanting to reach across and slap him, and instead just begged him for another chance. “Please Doug, er, Mr. Foss, if you could just give me a week or two to find another sitter, I know things will work out fine.”

  Doug Foss tilted his head back and faked deep contemplation. “Well, I suppose if you could find someone within a week that would be fine.” He lowered his head back down and smiled condescendingly. “I’ll give you a week, Lisa. But after that, you’re on your own.”

  She left the law office feeling depressed and angry, fantasizing about all the ways she could torture her boss. She headed to the overcrowded, overpriced child care center by the Museum of Modern Art, just south of Market, and picked up Chelsea, giving her a hug and a big kiss as Chelsea ran up to greet her. “Mommy, you’re on time!”

  Lisa smiled weakly. “I told you I would be kiddo, now let’s go home so Mommy can pour a Martini and take a long bath.”

  One of the day care providers overheard her and chuckled. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those exact words.

  Chelsea looked disappointed. “Can we stop at the pet store and look at the kittens? Please. Just for a minute? I want to see if the gray and white one is still there.”

  Lisa looked at the day care provider, who was watching with interest. “Okay, honey, but that means Mommy gets to have two martinis.”

  The day care worker started laughing as they left, and Lisa gave her a shy smile before heading out the door.

  ****
*

  Khalid boarded the BART train in Oakland. His head was spinning and his nerves were tight. His mouth was completely dry. The train was so crowded he was forced to stand, gripping a flower vase in one hand while curling the other around a support bar. The helium balloon, now loaded with the toxin, gently bobbed against the pole. His mouth twitched as he glanced up at the small Arabic symbol printed on its face. “The color red for the blood of the martyrs” he said inside his head. “The sword represents the sacred jihad.” He squeezed his eyes shut and said another prayer, the fear growing with each passing moment. “Allah, let me die well.”

  Juan “Loco” Guzman was packed in among the regular commuters. It was rush hour on a warm and beautiful spring afternoon in San Francisco, and as the BART train hummed along its tracks, Loco stared intently at Khalid with suspicion. Sitting in a side seat, he watched as Khalid closed his eyes, moving his lips in silent prayer. He had boarded the train at the same station as Khalid, and had immediately noticed the strange marking on the face of the balloon.

  Studying the beads of sweat that formed around Khalid's forehead, Loco grew more uptight. Loco, a member of the Border Brothers gang in Oakland, viewed everyone as a possible threat. He had heard about a recently uncovered plot to attack transportation systems on the news, and his inner radar was placed on high. He was not alone in his observations, although most of the other passengers who noticed Khalid didn’t seem as concerned with the man’s behavior. Khalid’s nervousness, in fact, seemed to provoke more smiles than misgivings from fellow passengers, who’d concluded his nervous demeanor was the result of an imminent romantic encounter, which was the desired effect.